Ever since that night when her heart had been melted by the story of his
love, Ida had treated him with the graciousness which a maiden accords to
an accepted lover. But far from claiming the privileges which he might
apparently have enjoyed, it seemed to him presumption enough and
happiness enough to kiss her dress, her sleeve, a tress of her hair, or,
at most, her hand, and to dream of her lips.
The dazed appearance, as of one doubtful of herself and all about her,
which Ida had worn the night when she was brought home, had now wholly
passed away. But a certain pensiveness remained. Her smiles were the
smiles of affection not of gaiety, and there was always a shadow in her
eyes. It was as if the recollection of the mystery from which her life
had emerged were never absent from her mind.
Still she took so much pleasure in her daily drives with Miss Ludington
that the latter ordered a pony chaise for her special use, and when Paul
arranged a croquet set on the village green, she permitted him to teach
her the game, and even showed some interest in it.
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